


(Discretion is) The Better Part of Valor

by arbitraryallegory



Series: Cautionary Tales [2]
Category: Joker Game (Anime)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Porn with Feelings, miyoshi lives, my spy guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-18 13:21:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7316845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arbitraryallegory/pseuds/arbitraryallegory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite knowing better; despite his own cynicism, he’d naively wished for this fragile peace to continue on indefinitely. He’d wanted it so badly that he’d somehow managed to forget a truth he’d learned for himself long before he caught the eye of a demon lord.<br/>Peace is only ever an illusion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Discretion is) The Better Part of Valor

**Author's Note:**

> I started working on this right after Episode 11 aired, and I’m not going to lie to you: it’s a mess. It’s just an overwrought jumble of pure feelings. But I literally could not write it any other way and still convey the things I wanted to convey. I tried really hard to keep Sakuma and Miyoshi in character, even when it went against the flow of the story, though I’m not sure I succeeded. I don’t actually go into specifics about how Miyoshi actually made it out of Coffin—that, leave up to your imaginations. What this story is, is basically Pure Aftermath, and Pure Hurt/Comfort, and Some Smut Okay Yeah Actually A Big Chunk In The Middle Is Nothing But Smut, and it has been a balm on my fractured heart to write, let me tell you.  
> As for why I decided to make it a sequel to ‘A Word (or Two) of Caution’ well, at first it was because it was easy. Then I thought: hey, if I make it a series with these two stories as the book-ends, I can go back later and fill in the in-between spaces if I want to! So it worked out. As always, thanks for reading!

**Now**

If anyone had asked Sakuma how he felt about peace as a concept three or so years ago, he probably would have given some passionate, unnecessarily poetic answer about victory and valor and death over defeat. Three or so years ago his entire philosophical perspective hadn’t been turned upside down several times by an old man incapable of taking ‘no’ for an answer and an impudent devil in a bespoke suit.

Looking around at the muted, early-morning bustle of the small village, and raising his hand in greeting to those who wished him good morning by name (or alias, anyway), he thought if someone asked the same question now, his answer would be quite different.

He hadn’t asked Yuuki what was so special about this remote clump of houses in the middle of nowhere, (though he’d figured it out for himself after several days of no one looking at him with anything stronger than mild curiosity). Rather, he hadn’t been in any condition to ask anything, at the time, nor to process any answers, had they been given. Not with all that had happened prior to his impromptu exile.

After a while, Sakuma had stopped expecting the Army to show up and carry him off to prison for desertion, though even several months later he couldn’t quite stop looking over his shoulder. It wasn’t paranoia, he told himself. Not when there was a real chance it could happen. Not when he hadn’t heard a single word or instruction in all these months.

When he looked up from good-naturedly haggling with an affable fruit vendor to see the sleek black city car rolling inexorably up the only dirt road into the village, he knew he’d been right to hold onto his wariness. It didn’t make the drop of his heart into his stomache any less unpleasant.

Despite knowing better; despite his own cynicism, he’d naively wished for this fragile peace to continue on indefinitely. He’d wanted it so badly that he’d somehow managed to forget a truth he’d learned for himself long before he caught the eye of a demon lord.

Peace is only ever an illusion.

**Then**

He received the news following a briefing of his latest mission. In fact, he was just leaving his meeting when Yuuki’s blank faced messenger found him and delivered the terse, encrypted message.

He felt like the bottom had dropped out of his stomach; a feeling which he became intimately familiar with during the seemingly endless drive to Yokohama, because it refused to go away.

When he finally arrived at the decaying waterfront building that had been hastily and imperfectly transformed into a make-shift hospital, he had been awake for going on thirty hours. That was where he found Miyoshi, too still and far too pale under some dingy army blankets, and whatever of his wits remained were left in the dust.

“Is he—” his voice cracked on the question he couldn’t possibly complete, and he felt his body give a great confused lurch; half of him yearned forward, while the other half violently rejected the urge in favor of relatively blissful uncertainty.

A hand landed on his shoulder, unnatural stiffness betraying it as a prosthetic, and almost against his will Sakuma settled a bit.

“He’s alive,” Yuuki said simply.

Sakuma’s knees nearly buckled and he stumbled forward to sit in the chair that had been conveniently placed at Miyoshi’s bedside. He reached out to take the hand resting closest to him, not even caring that both of his shook as he pressed his middle and index fingers to the translucent skin on the inside of the wrist. Miyoshi’s pulse was weak and sluggish, but _there_ and Sakuma closed his eyes and let the relief wash through him in waves.

“Hypothermia and infection, along with drug complications and likely pneumonia made his initial prognosis extremely…unfavorable. His heart stopped twice. But as you see, it continues to beat. He’s the second most headstrong person I’ve ever met; if he’s lived through this much, he’ll continue to do so.”

Sakuma heard Yuuki’s uneven steps approach and wanted to kick the damn cane, and smash it to splinters. He wanted to ask why even now he couldn’t leave behind the trappings of subterfuge. Instead he remained mute, though the dissatisfaction seethed just beneath the surface.

_You did this to him and still you don’t have the decency to come here without guile._

“I’ve stalled as long as possible, but he must be transported somewhere else immediately. Though he’s not happy about it, the doctor here has cleared him for travel. I’m having a car prepared now to take him somewhere safe to recover.”

Sakuma nodded. He should thank Yuuki, he thought distantly, for his kindness in allowing Sakuma to see Miyoshi before he was spirited away. As long as he would be safe; as long as Sakuma knew he was out there, alive and convalescing, he could stand to let Miyoshi out of his sight again. Probably.

“You’ll be accompanying him.”

Sakuma’s head shot up and he stared, looking for any sign that Yuuki was playing a trick on him, but his commanding officer looked as stoic and grim as ever. He opened his mouth to question it, maybe even to protest that he was needed elsewhere, but all that emerged was a faint, “Yes, sir.”

“Everything is arranged; you needn’t bother yourself with the details. Concentrate on his recovery and rest assured that you’ll both be quite safe.”

This time Yuuki used his good hand to give Sakuma’s shoulder a slight squeeze, then he hobbled away and out of the building. Shortly thereafter some men, dressed fully as nurses but for their complete indifference, came with a stretcher and transferred Miyoshi to an ambulance.

**Now**

As he walked up to meet the car, Sakuma did his best to hide his bitterness.

It wasn’t as easy as it had once been.

The window belonging to the back seat came down and it was Yuuki—of course it was. “Is that the look you should have on your face to greet your superior officer, Lieutenant?”

Sakuma bit the inside of his cheek to quell the belligerent answer he wanted to give to _that_. “I wasn’t expecting you, sir. I apologize for my state of dress,” he said instead, gesturing to his simple kimono, more suited to a farmhand than a commissioned officer.

Which wasn’t far from the truth actually. At a loss for anything worthwhile to do, Sakuma had begun helping in the fields this spring, and performing other simple tasks for the villagers. He wasn’t born to this kind of work, but he could follow instructions well enough, and go where directed. It was hard labor, back-breaking at times, yet somehow fulfilling. Knowing it was his own work that had won the food on the table was a singularly awe-inspiring experience.

Yuuki, unsurprisingly, dismissed Sakuma’s apology by totally ignoring it. “Where is Miyoshi?”

Sakuma’s fists clenched at his sides. “He’s home.”

Something in the way he’d said it must have sounded off, because Yuuki looked at him with an eyebrow raised almost imperceptibly. “I see. Would you like a ride back, Lieutenant?”

Sakuma held up his basket numbly. He was helping out the Chibas with fence repairs today and they’d promised him half a dozen eggs in return. He wasn’t sure how to say such a thing to someone he both loathed and respected, so he settled for a more vague approach. “I have other obligations. Can you find your own way?”

Yuuki looked at him for a long moment, considering. He leaned forward and said something to the driver, and the car jerked forward. Some small, petty part of Sakuma hoped it’d given the Lieutenant Colonel whiplash.

He should return to the house. Even if he didn’t want to, he should hear what their, or perhaps only Miyoshi’s, next orders were to be. He wasn’t stupid. He knew as well as the next reasonably intelligent person that Yuuki wouldn’t have made the trip personally just to check on Miyoshi’s health. If he didn’t go now, there was a possibility he’d already be gone by the time Sakuma returned.

**Past**

“Keep him clean and cool, but don’t touch him with water that hasn’t been boiled first,” the doctor said, packing up his tools. He was from one of the larger villages in the area, but he’d explained he was here as a personal favor to the Demon Lord. “The fever’s starting to break so he’ll probably come around soon. Send for me if anything changes. I’ll be with the Haradas tonight.”

Sakuma nodded. It felt like he was doing a lot of that lately, just going with the flow around him. This was the third time he’d had to call for the doctor in as many days, and he’d barely slept in the meantime.

He knelt next to the bed and dipped a clean rag into the pot of water next to it and began to gently clean away the sweat from Miyoshi’s face. It was still too pale, but there were two high spots of color on his cheeks and his breathing seemed less shallow than it had.

He hadn’t awakened since they’d arrived and it was wearing on Sakuma’s nerves. If he’d just open his eyes once and give Sakuma that trickster grin, then he’d be able to bear the waiting more easily.

He skipped the bandages on Miyoshi’s chest. The doctor had changed them already and Sakuma was glad for it. The ugly wound was healing slowly, and in the meantime Miyoshi’s body was vulnerable to infections, the doctor had lectured. Sakuma hated looking at it, though he did several times a day to disinfect it and change the bandages as he’d been taught.

He moved lower, re-dampening the rag and smoothing it over Miyoshi’s torso and belly. Then he resituated himself so he could tuck his thumbs into Miyoshi’s pajama pants to pull them down—

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to molest an invalid?”

Sakuma jolted backwards, knocking over the water and looking around the room frantically. There was no one.

“Have you forgotten what my voice sounds like so soon, Sakuma-san?” came the voice again, scratchy with disuse, and Sakuma’s eyes finally landed on Miyoshi, whose eyes were still closed, but whose face wore a much weaker version of the usual smirk. The eyes finally opened as he watched; hazy with pain and weariness, but _open_. “I’m hurt.”

Sakuma sank down slowly, heart racing. “I haven’t fallen asleep, have I?” he asked dumbly.

“I hope not,” Miyoshi slurred. He seemed to be having trouble forming words, though his mind was obviously as sharp as ever, if he was up to teasing. “If I’m in this much pain in your dreams, I’d be very worried I’ve been judging you incorrectly this whole time. How long has it been?”

Sakuma shook his head and flushed. “I don’t know how long it was between your injury and returning to Japan, but you’ve been in my care for five days. It’s the second of January.”

Miyoshi winced. “That long? I must be losing my touch,” he said flippantly, and tried to sit up.

“You almost _died_ ,” Sakuma said harshly, pushing him back with a firm, but very gentle hand on the shoulder opposite his wound while the other steadied him by the ribcage. “What the hell _happened_?”

Miyoshi, apparently realizing his own weakness—or else just surprised by Sakuma’s question, which seemed more likely when Sakuma thought about it—stilled. “You don’t know?”

Sakuma carefully helped Miyoshi into a slightly more upright position, then reached for the repurposed sake bottle of sterilized water he kept nearby and a small tea cup. Miyoshi took the cup gratefully when he offered it, and Sakuma spoke while he sipped. “There wasn’t time for a briefing. Nearly as soon as I arrived at the…hospital, we were sent away to somewhere Yuuki assured me is safe.”

Miyoshi squinted at him. “You don’t know where we _are_?”

“It’s somewhere in the country, about eleven hours, including countermeasures against tracking,” Sakuma said impatiently. “Stop dodging the question. What. Happened. To. You?”

Miyoshi sighed. “I didn’t make a mistake and get stabbed, if that’s what you’ve been thinking. I was in a freak train accident and got…somewhat impaled by debris. It was just bad luck.” He reached up unthinkingly to touch the area the bandages covered, and Sakuma caught his hand.

“Don’t,” he said quietly. “You’re already fighting an infection. You don’t want to make it worse.”

Miyoshi’s eyes widened, “Did Yuuki get—” he bit his lip, cutting off his own words and released a deep exhale instead. “Nevermind. I suppose I’ll just have to find out about the results of my mission later.”

Sakuma felt like he’d swallowed a brick. He didn’t want to think about ‘later’ just yet. “How did you get out?”

“That, I don’t know. I certainly didn’t expect to make it out, even with,” his eyes flickered with something dark for just a moment, there and gone, “ _countermeasures_. I suppose we’ll both have to find out. Are you alright Sakuma-san? Now that I’m looking, you seem a bit worse-for-the-wear yourself.”

Sakuma strangled the hysterical laugh before it could gain traction up his throat. It choked him a bit to do so, but he didn’t know what would follow if he let it out. “I’m fine,” he said instead, and was proud that his voice only wavered slightly, to his own ears. “Just a bit tired.”

Miyoshi tugged on the hand that Sakuma only now realized he was still holding. He used it to cover his yawn. “Now that you say so…” he murmured, snuggling back into his pillows.

Sakuma reached out hesitantly to lay his hand on his forehead, trying to ignore it when Miyoshi butted into it like a cat seeking pets. Instead of lingering, he reached down to take the empty cup. “Your fever’s broken for now. Sleep. Rest is the best medicine for you.” _At least now that I know you’ll wake up, I can think calmly again._

“Hmm.” Miyoshi’s eyes closed, and Sakuma reached out to brush away the same errant lock of hair that always got in the way when they kissed. He stopped halfway through the motion and retracted his hand.

He shouldn’t disturb Miyoshi when he was trying to sleep.

When Miyoshi’s breathing evened out into true slumber, Sakuma felt every bit of the adrenaline that had been sustaining him the past several days leave his body in a flood. He felt light-headed from it.

He bent his head over clasped hands to offer a quick word of thanks to whatever mysterious deity or force had seen fit to answer his desperate prayers—no sense in alienating it now that they had been granted, he reasoned. He fell asleep like that, between one breath and the next, hunched over Miyoshi’s bed. Despite the muscle aches the awkward position caused the next morning, it was the best sleep he’d ever gotten.

**Now**

Five—nearly six now—months had passed in what seemed like a blink of an eye.

Sakuma waved goodbye to the Chibas and ruffled the closely-shorn head of the youngest son, who gave him a huge gap-toothed grin. The fence repairs hadn’t taken long, and the six eggs in his basket were accompanied by a jar of natto that the mother had pressed into his hand before he left.

Everyone knew how much Miyoshi—or Sato Misaki as they knew him—loved natto.

“Oji-san! Hey oji-san!”

Sakuma blinked and turned around just as the little Chiba boy barreled into his legs, panting. “Mama said to bring this to you. She forgot she finished it.” He held up something triumphantly; a book. Sakuma frowned. It wasn’t his.

The boy laughed at his expression. “She borrowed it from Sato-nii-san!”

Sakuma huffed out a laugh. “Why is he nii-san and I’m oji-san?” he asked. “We’re around the same age.” _Probably_. _He might actually be a little older than me._

The little boy looked gob smacked. “Huh? No way! You look so old, oji-san!”

Sakuma laughed again and swatted playfully at the boy, who dodged easily and ran off, giggling madly. He shook his head, and turned around to continue his trek home. If he hurried, he could still get away with making ‘breakfast’ instead of ‘lunch’ and skip Miyoshi’s lecture about proper eating habits.

 _If he’s still there_.

The thought wiped the smile from his face very efficiently indeed.

He stopped walking.

**Then**

Sakuma pulled his limbs in closer as he walked up the path to their house. They were set back a little way from the rest of the village, which he usually liked for the privacy it afforded them, but right now, when it was snowing and cold and he just wanted to be inside—it was a pain.

Through the snow he could just make out Miyoshi near the house—what on earth was he doing out in this weather? He quickened his steps and as he came closer he saw that Miyoshi was…practicing some form of martial arts. In the freezing cold, not two weeks out from his last bout with fever.

“What are you doing?” he asked, voice as cold as the powder slowly covering the ground.

“Tai Chi,” Miyoshi answered as he flowed through the kata. “Yang discipline. It’s slow enough that it doesn’t overtax my body, but involved enough to keep me in shape until I can return to normal training.”

It was certainly beautiful, Sakuma thought as he watched for a moment longer. When he couldn’t stand it any longer, he turned his back on the tableau, and entered the house. A vendor had brought some cured fish that would be good in the stew Sakuma had planned to make anyway. It would simply make it a bit heartier, which couldn’t hurt.

Sakuma had the irori burning, cooking the food and giving off plenty of heat for their small home when Miyoshi came inside. He was dripping, from sweat or melted snow or a combination of both.

“Change out of those clothes,” Sakuma shook out a heavy blanket to wrap around Miyoshi’s shoulders once he disrobed, and gently steered him to the edge of the bed.

“You’re angry,” Miyoshi observed, resisting. He eyed Sakuma with that calculating expression he hated.

“Let me change those bandages,” Sakuma said, ignoring him for the moment. The foolish man was barely well enough to stay awake the whole day, let alone go out in the snow and _train_. Sakuma didn’t have time to be angry over his fear of another relapse.

“Sakuma-san,” Miyoshi said sharply, and when Sakuma looked at him, his eyes were not cold, the way the usually were when he argued, but _blistering_. “I am not some enfeebled child that you have to look after every moment of every day. I know my limits better than you possibly could, and I assure you I’m staying well within them.”

Sakuma closed his eyes and shook his head. Miyoshi reached out and shoved him backwards with great force, and Sakuma had to either open his eyes or lose his balance. He was honestly shocked. Sakuma couldn’t remember Miyoshi ever becoming violent outside of practice; he generally preferred to using his razor edged tongue to express his anger. That shock was compounded when he noticed the bit of moisture gathered at the corners of Miyoshi’s eyes before he spat, “What is _wrong with you_? You’ve been like this for weeks. You barely look at me, and when you do it’s as if you’re seeing a ghost!”

“I can’t,” Sakuma whispered. As it always did, his gaze fell to the bandages against his will, the deceptively small square of cloth hiding a wound that had almost taken everything from him.

“Because of this?” Miyoshi ripped the white cloth away to reveal the nearly-healed scar. The doctor had removed the stitches just last week.

“ ** _Yes!_** ” Sakuma exploded. “Because you almost _died_!” He meant each word to cut, as he had been cut by Miyoshi’s every thoughtless word or action. “That train accident, that mission, _Yuuki_ , they almost took you away _forever_. And all you can talk about is going back! You won’t even give yourself time to heal and get your strength back before you’re out in the fucking snow doing _kata_. You could still get an infection or another fever or—”

“—or I could slip on a banana peel tomorrow and hit my head on a rock and die that way,” Miyoshi interrupted. Understanding was beginning to clear the anger from his expression, though Sakuma wasn’t at all certain he liked what was replacing it. “I could try to cook for you and set fire to us all. Any one of a hundred small, mundane things could kill me. Or you for that matter. I’m not going to let that stop me from _living_. And aren’t you meant to believe in an afterlife where we’d meet again?”

“I can’t take that chance,” Sakuma said grimly. “You don’t believe in it, so you might not get in. If all I get with you is this life, then I want it to last as long as possible.”

Miyoshi reached out and took one of his hands. “It doesn’t work that way, Sakuma-san,” he said very gently. “I appreciate the romance of the sentiment, but neither of us can predict the future. We are at war. The entire world is at war, for that matter; there’s nowhere to escape from it. People are going to die, and one of them might be one of us.”

Sakuma shuddered. Miyoshi was right. Of course he was. But Sakuma couldn’t forget the cold terror of seeing Miyoshi’s seemingly lifeless body. The thought of feeling the way he had in that one agonizing moment for the rest of his life made him ill.

Miyoshi reached up to his face and tipped it down so he could see into Sakuma’s eyes. “I can’t swear that I won’t die. But I can absolutely promise you that I won’t give up until the bitter end, and even then I won’t accept it. If anything’s waiting on the other side, I’ll promise to spit in their faces if you want.”

Sakuma knew Miyoshi was patronizing him, at least a little, but he nodded jerkily anyway. It wasn’t nearly enough, but he would have to accept it. He’d spit on them when he got there too.

Miyoshi took Sakuma’s brief inattention and used it to his advantage to get Sakuma down onto the bed with a series of pushes and pulls so fast Sakuma couldn’t follow them. When Miyoshi apparently had him where he wanted him, he sat astride Sakuma’s waist wearing a smug smirk and not one thing else.

“Now, about you not looking at me…”

“You really should rest,” Sakuma said feebly, but all the things he hadn’t allowed himself to feel while Miyoshi had been convalescing were now rising to the surface.

Other things were “rising” as well, seeing Miyoshi so vital and alive and more-or-less back to his old self.

“Oh!” Miyoshi exclaimed, sitting back to look down slyly. “It seems you weren’t the stone statue you appeared to be. Though you are quite…hard. Whatever shall I do with you?” he purred, brushing one hand teasingly over Sakuma’s clothed chest.

Unbidden, a scene of Hatano scolding him about his technique came to mind. “ _Sakuma-san, hand-to-hand combat is about more than brute strength; it’s about the right application of leverage, and how much better you are at thinking on your feet than your opponent._

Sakuma certainly wasn’t better at thinking on his feet than Miyoshi was. However, if he timed it right…he might just have the element of surprise.

Tensing his muscles, he pushed up, as though attempting to force Miyoshi onto his back. Miyoshi, of course, caught on and pushed back into the motion, keeping Sakuma on his back. Which meant he wasn’t paying as much attention to his legs, and furthermore all his strength was diverted to his upper body. Sakuma reached down and grasped Miyoshi’s leg at the bend of his knee, pulling it up at the same time he used Miyoshi’s own forward momentum to unbalance him and roll them over, reversing their positions with Miyoshi’s knee still firmly hooked in his hand and held aloft.

Miyoshi gasped in apparent pain and Sakuma scowled. “Don’t do that,” he hissed. “I listened to your real sounds of pain enough while you slept to know what they sound like. I don’t think I’ll ever forget them, so it’s useless to try to trick me.”

Miyoshi abandoned the act to stare at him soberly for a long moment. “I’m sorry,” he offered. “For whatever that’s worth, I am sorry this has been so hard on you. I am slightly happy it’s me that has you so bothered, though. That I’m important enough to make you so unsettled is…gratifying.”

Miyoshi looked off to the side, and Sakuma recognized it as one of his few tells; how he expressed his embarrassment. Sakuma appreciated the words, both for themselves and for what the attempt to make himself more vulnerable must have cost him.

Sakuma rewarded him with a kiss.

It was the first kiss they’d shared in nearly a year and Sakuma felt himself sinking into it; into the acute familiarity of Miyoshi’s silky, hot mouth. He eased himself down carefully, mindful of the still-tender injury, though he kept Miyoshi’s leg snug against his side.

“This is a little unfair, don’t you think?” Miyoshi breathed against his lips.

Sakuma hummed in question, nibbling on the full bottom lip that was _right there_ , begging for attention.

“I’m naked and you’re still fully dressed.”

Miyoshi didn’t seem to mind the unfairness over much, since a moment later Sakuma felt cool hands worming their way under his hakama.

“No fundoshi?” Miyoshi queried, with a slight widening of his eyes. “Why, Lieutenant, I’m shocked!”

Sakuma choked on his snort when Miyoshi pinched him on the hip. Hard. “Take off your clothes. I want to see you.”

Sakuma huffed, but complied. He stood and began to disrobe quickly.

“You could make it more erotic,” Miyoshi complained, reclining fully to watch. He looked like some decadent portrait, one arm supporting his head from behind, the other resting low on his belly, and his legs parted in flagrant invitation. His skin seemed to glow, though he was no longer as alarmingly pale as he had been.

Sakuma let his own deliberate gaze drink in the sight from head to toe, and reveled in the hectic blush that caused to spread up from Miyoshi’s chest, and the slight involuntary twitch of his legs further apart in reaction.

When at last he stood naked, they simply stared at one another briefly. It had been a long time that had felt even longer since they’d been this way together. Sakuma knew that the circumstances of their liaison had changed in a significant, albeit indefinable way, but the atmosphere of their silent exchange was neither grave, nor particularly nervous. Instead it was weighted by something else; heat, certainly. Anticipation; hunger.

And maybe just a touch of wonder that fate had seen fit to allow them this moment at all.

But it had to end eventually, and Sakuma took it upon himself to do so when he knelt at the foot of the bed and very intentionally crawled into the welcoming cradle Miyoshi made for him. Turning his head, he scraped his teeth lightly along the supple skin of an inner thigh, delivering a sharp nip in retaliation for the earlier pinch.

Miyoshi gasped, back arching, and his flushed, heavy erection brushed Sakuma’s cheek. Distracted from his slow rediscovery, Sakuma slid both hands high on his thighs, and pressed down firmly. It effectively pinned Miyoshi’s hips and kept his legs spread, while framing that lovely cock.

It also put his thumbs in perfect position to brush the soft, thin skin of the sac below, which he did, eliciting an aborted jerk. Sakuma loved this position; the way it put Miyoshi completely at his mercy.

The fact that it never failed to utterly wreck Miyoshi was an added bonus, and his strangled cry when Sakuma bent down to take him into his mouth was better than any music.

He took his time relearning Miyoshi’s reactions. The way the first soft suckles made his thighs tense, trying to close; that letting the tip of the shaft sink slowly into the back of his throat made Miyoshi’s belly quiver; how just the barest edge of teeth made his entire body pull tight as a bow. And when Sakuma took him in all the way to the root, Miyoshi’s hands clamped onto his head like twin vices.

At last he pulled back and blew softly on the wet, sticky skin while Miyoshi shuddered above him. He looked _debauched_ when Sakuma managed to tear his eyes away. His chest heaved and his head was thrown back, lips bitten to an enticing red by his own teeth.

Sakuma wanted him—desperately. But he didn’t have the necessities for the desire he truly wished to fulfill. The one necessity. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t have asked one of the village’s infrequent visitors as a special request without looking insanely suspicious. And he wasn’t going to attempt anything that might hurt Miyoshi just for the sake of his libido.

He would content himself with Miyoshi’s hand, or mouth if he felt up to it—and the thought of _that_ caused a different sort of thrill—but he couldn’t quite help a wistful pass of his thumb over Miyoshi’s small, puckered entrance, as he licked up the vein on the underside of the shaft.

“Wait—Sakum—ah! Wait!” Miyoshi panted, pulling on Sakuma’s hair painfully with one hand as he half-rolled over and stretched his other arm out for something.

Sakuma grunted, and opened his mouth to object, when a small ceramic jar was thrust into his face. He took it gingerly and sat up.

“What’s this?” he asked, removing the tiny lid and sniffing it suspiciously. There wasn’t much of a scent, but if it was what he thought it was, wasn’t that a little too convenient?

Miyoshi, propped up on his elbows, glared. “Figure it out, Sakuma-san. I know that head of yours isn’t as empty as it seems.”

“Yes, I’ve assessed the purpose, _thank you_. But what _is_ it?”

Miyoshi licked his lips and Sakuma was momentarily distracted by that. But only momentarily. When Miyoshi saw that he wasn’t going to be deterred he flopped on his back with bad grace and said, “Honestly, you probably don’t want to know. I got it from the doctor. Can’t that be enough?” He was practically whining, which Sakuma probably shouldn’t have found so endearing on a grown man.

Miyoshi had a habit of defying probability.

Sakuma hesitated, even despite the fact that it had come from a doctor. (He wasn’t going to think about how he was going to look the man in the eye the next time he came by. He wasn’t.) “It’s…safe?” he asked, feeling a little lost. “You’re sure?”

Miyoshi’s features softened and he sat up; scooted in a bit so he could pull their faces close together. He touched his forehead to Sakuma’s, so their noses bumped and every breath was shared. “I promise it’s very safe. No one is as concerned about the safety of my body as I am, you know that. Now will you please get inside me?”

Sakuma shuddered at the bolt of heat that sent directly to his lower belly. He captured Miyoshi’s lips and kissed him all the way back down to the mattress, dipping his fingers into the jar for a generous helping—it was cool of course, slightly thick and very slick to the touch but not overly oily—which he wasted no time in smearing down the crease of Miyoshi’s very pert backside.

Miyoshi jolted. “Just cold,” he dismissed when Sakuma paused. “Go on.”

He tilted his head down to rest the crown on Miyoshi’s collarbone so he could watch as his first finger sank slowly into the welcoming warmth of Miyoshi’s body, and drink in Miyoshi’s shivery sighs from above.

He wasn’t sure he’d last if he had to see the way Miyoshi’s face invariably went slack and glazed with pleasure while Sakuma fingered him open. He was holding on by a thread as it was.

Swallowing thickly, he eased his index finger in alongside his middle and gave his own shudder at the fluttery contractions around them. When he brushed that small nub inside, Miyoshi’s knees came up to squeeze his hips, and his toes curled against Sakuma’s calves.

He was going to die. Holding back was going to kill him. He grit his teeth and proceeded as slowly as he was capable, scissoring his fingers and struggling to breathe against the knowledge that he would soon have all that wet, soft heat squeezing his—

When Miyoshi spoke, he sounded as desperate as Sakuma felt, and it really didn’t help with his resolution. “Sakuma-san you don’t have to be so—”

“Shut up,” Sakuma rasped harshly. “Don’t give me permission.” _I might just take it to heart_.

“But—”

He didn’t want to hear it, so both to shut Miyoshi up and release some of his pent up frustration, he kissed him savagely. Their teeth clacked together as Sakuma opened up and sucked Miyoshi’s tongue into his own mouth, biting enough to sting but not to break skin.

Throughout, he kept his ministrations below slow and gentle, and the kiss distracted him enough to calm down a degree or two. By the time he added his third finger, he didn’t feel as though he would explode like a teenager from a mere touch.

At which point Miyoshi had apparently had enough, and reached down to grasp his cock with both his hands. Sakuma didn’t know when he’d gotten them on the slick, but they were wet and slippery and utterly shattering on his frayed nerves.

“Enough with the foreplay, Lieutenant,” Miyoshi hissed in his ear. “I want this—” he squeezed, causing Sakuma to let out an extremely undignified whine, “—where your fingers are in the next ten seconds or I’m taking matters into my own hands.”

Sakuma folded like a house of cards.

Lining up to Miyoshi’s body and that first push in was a different kind of torture; both sweeter and more agonizing because he knew all it would take to get everything he wanted was a single thrust.

He took a deep breath and pushed away the impulse, withdrawing a bit so he could give another minute push.

He checked Miyoshi’s face for signs of discomfort and was caught by the expression he found there. Not that he could see much of an expression with Miyoshi’s arm thrown across his eyes, but the way his mouth opened soundlessly, and the bobbing of his throat as he swallowed his groans told a complete enough story.

The distraction was enough cost Sakuma control of his hips for the single second it took them to stutter and slam him home.

Miyoshi _yowled_.

Sakuma panicked and began to withdraw, but Miyoshi’s ankles locked behind him and his arms came around his shoulders, clutching and digging fingernails into his back.

“Don’t even think about it!” he managed, words smothered against Sakuma’s collarbone. “I’m not made of glass. _Please_ just fuck me!” he begged.

How could Sakuma, a mere man, possibly deny him?

He snapped his hips back and forward in quick succession, punching the breath from his own lungs as well as Miyoshi’s, if his hoarse gasp was any indication. It caused his arms to loosen, and Sakuma pushed them into the bed by the forearms, and gained the leverage to build a deep, unyielding rhythm.

Miyoshi’s eyes went glassy and unfocused as they always did when Sakuma fucked him this hard, and his body seemed to go as liquid, absorbing the momentum of each punishing thrust. Denied use of his arms, he arched his back and found the correct angle to rub his cock against Sakuma’s belly.

Sakuma fought for each breath, sweat was stinging his eyes, and the tell-tell blackness was creeping into the edges of his vision. He wasn’t going to last much longer. A quick analysis of Miyoshi’s current body language revealed him to be close as well, though probably not quite as close as Sakuma was.

Assessment reached, Sakuma made the executive decision to lean in and take Miyoshi’s left nipple between his teeth, while at the same time reaching down to push his finger sharply into the sensitive patch of skin behind Miyoshi’s balls.

It achieved the desired result. Miyoshi’s eyes went wide with an almost disconcerting blankness and his entire body tensed, including the parts of him surrounding Sakuma’s cock. He didn’t make a single sound, but Sakuma released one, deeply heartfelt groan as he stiffened and his hips stuttered forward, grinding in as deeply as possible.

Afterward, he slumped bonelessly and buried his labored breaths in Miyoshi’s clavicle.

Miyoshi’s hands came around to trace idle patterns into his back. If he concentrated he could almost make out a kanji or two, but he was too tired to try to figure out whatever the no doubt cryptic message was.

“Sakuma-san” Miyoshi’s voice buzzed pleasantly with post-orgasmic bliss. “I’m hungry.”

And that was the exact moment Sakuma realized he’d completely forgotten about the stew that he could just then smell was beginning to burn atop the irori.

He looked up at Miyoshi very seriously. “How do you feel about natto and rice?”

**Now**

An elderly farmer had flagged him down on his way home. One of the ditches they used for irrigating the vegetable fields had been clogged by debris during the storm a few days prior, and they wanted Sakuma’s help to remove it. He was one of the few sturdy young men left in the village, so he was a popular choice for such labor-intensive jobs.

He watched Yuuki’s car leave hours later from the very ditch, disappearing down the same dirt road it had come in by and did not wonder if Miyoshi was in it. And when he finally made his feet bring him to the house they’d shared for nearly a half a year, he didn’t have to. The place was empty, and already felt abandoned in some indefinable way.

He hadn’t really expected differently, but the cold silence sliced him open as effectively as any sword could.

He arranged his geta neatly by the door, as he always did, and wondered if he could bribe the next vendor who passed through to give him a ride to a relatively nearby city. Nearly all of them were crawling with military personnel by this point, so it shouldn’t be too difficult to find transportation back to Tokyo.

There wasn’t any point in staying on here without Miyoshi.

Unmindful of his filthy clothes, Sakuma sighed as he sank onto their—the bed. An odd crackle accompanied the movement, and he reached underneath himself to find a piece of paper folded into quarters Miyoshi’s immaculate calligraphy forming the kanji for his name on the outside.

Inexplicably infuriated by the presence of the note he crumpled it in his fist and hurled it across the room.

Later he would retrieve it, smooth out the wrinkles, and read whatever had been written on it over and over again, looking for any small clue into the psyche of the author, but for now it soothed his dignity a bit to discard the letter as easily as he had apparently been discarded.

He should have known Miyoshi would be incapable of facing anything head on, without the smokescreens of polite subterfuge and hollow gestures. He was a spy after all.

_And just who spent nearly the entire day being foolishly avoidant, just so they wouldn’t have to come back here and say goodbye? Hypocrisy, thy name is Sakuma-san!_

Why did the voice of his conscience belong to someone who very likely didn’t have one of his own?

He should check the small vegetable garden he’d cultivated with the help of some of the villagers. The tomatoes were nearly ripe enough to pick. Even if he wasn’t going to be using them himself, he could at least offer them to his neighbors in some small thanks for the kindness they’d shown him and Miyoshi these last months.

He slipped back into his geta and stepped outside, meandering around to the back of the house. He would miss the quiet of this place. Even if the peace had all been an illusion, it had seemed real while it lasted and he would always think of his time here fondly.

He was brought quite abruptly from his idle reverie when he turned the corner and saw Miyoshi kneeling in the dirt and inspecting what looked like cabbage with deep concentration.

“Why are you here?” It was very nearly a yelp, so great was his surprise.

Miyoshi looked up at him, squinting against the hazy brightness of the late afternoon sun. “Where else should I be?” he asked, sounding bewildered. “Am I not allowed back here? Surely you’re not that possessive of this quaint little garden?”

“I thought you…” What? How could he possibly finish that sentence when Miyoshi was right in front of him with a streak of dirt on his forehead and acting like nothing very interesting had happened at all that day? Had he hallucinated the encounter with Yuuki after all?

“Oh the note,” Miyoshi said, as though he understood.

 _You couldn’t possibly_. Sakuma’s lips felt numb from all the words that refused to come out

“I expected you back before me, and thought you might appreciate knowing where I’d gone. Harada-san wanted some help airing out her futons and I was rather bored. Do you think this cabbage is ready to pick?” He asked curiously, poking at the greenery he’d been inspecting. “Cabbage stuffed with mushrooms and tomato sounds divine, don’t you think?”

“I meant,” Sakuma said carefully, rattled by the surreality of this entire conversation. “Why are you _still_ here? I saw the Lieutenant Colonel. I spoke to him, and I know he was coming to see you.”

“Oh, that,” Miyoshi said dismissively. “It was nothing.” He stood finally, brushing invisible dreck from his hakama. It was uncanny how they never seemed to get dirty or dusty, no matter where or how long he knelt.

“It was nothing,” Sakuma repeated flatly. “Lieutenant Colonel Yuuki drove all the way out here for nothing?”

“In essence,” Miyoshi hedged.

“He wanted you to go with him.” It wasn’t a guess, so he didn’t do either of them the disservice of phrasing it as a question. He knew very well why Yuuki had come here in person.

“Yes.”

Sakuma scrubbed his face with both hands, frustrated at his own lack of comprehension. He was missing something obvious, and Miyoshi wasn’t going to help him out, that was obvious. Which was strange in itself, because Miyoshi usually wasn’t stingy about sharing his knowledge. Unless…

Unless it was something he didn’t want Sakuma to know.

“You’re scared so you refused.” It was a wild stab in the dark, and the only way Sakuma knew it had hit its mark was the brief tightening of Miyoshi’s mouth; the faintest twitch of his jaw.

“Don’t be obtuse, Sakuma-san.”

Miyoshi only resorted to insults when he was backed into a corner.

“I’m glad.” Miyoshi blinked at him, mouth falling open most likely to offer another protest, but Sakuma talked over him. He knew he was right. “I’m glad I’m not the only one who’s scared.”

Miyoshi sighed and closed his eyes. “I suppose you’ve earned a bit of honesty after everything. I didn’t so much refuse, as negotiate a moratorium.”

Sakuma’s eyebrows shot up. “And he was willing to grant it? Even though you’re fully healed?”

Miyoshi slanted him a look. “‘A spy who is too hesitant is just as useless as one who is too eager,’” he quoted. He didn’t meet Sakuma’s eyes as he spoke his next words. “I thought I had come to terms with my mortality, and what it meant to ‘nearly die.’ Secretly, I’ve been waiting for him to show up for a while and take me back to work. But when I saw the car, and then Yuuki walking toward me I didn’t think, ‘ _Finally_.’ I thought, _‘My time’s up_.’ And it wasn’t excitement or impatience I felt, in the end, but panic. I couldn’t breathe.”

“Miyoshi—”

“I’m not sure what that means for me,” Miyoshi interrupted with a soft chuckle. “The only place I’ve ever felt I belonged was with D-Agency, and being a spy was the only occupation I’ve had that truly challenged me.”

“I wish you weren't alive now,” Sakuma blurted without thinking.

“Excuse me?” Miyoshi said very _very_ stiffly after a shocked pause.

“I didn’t mean—I meant I wish you’d been born in some other time,” Sakuma explained. “A time without war. Maybe you’d have more options then.”

The miffed expression evaporated from Miyoshi's face, and he snickered into his sleeve. He even snorted delicately, which meant it was a real laugh. “You really are quite the romantic, aren’t you?”

Sakuma felt his face heating up even as he glowered.

Miyoshi stepped forward and took his hand, threading their fingers together. “I don’t mind. The world could use more romantics.”

**Then**

“What are you writing when you do that?”

Sakuma had dozed off, and when he woke Miyoshi had a book open and propped on his head and was drawing those same patterns on his back.

He halted for just a second, before resuming, more slowly. Sakuma shivered as he passed over a ticklish spot.

“Nothing interesting. The usual things one doodles suppose.”

“Isn’t idle fidgeting like that a bad habit for a spy?”

“Who says it’s idle?” Miyoshi countered, stopping to turn the page.

“You’re saying you do it deliberately?”

“Hmm.”

Sakuma concentrated for several long moments, but he still couldn’t make out what the kanji was, if it was kanji at all. Eventually he got frustrated and pushed up, shoving the book away so he could look Miyoshi square in the eye.

“Just say it directly.”

Miyoshi’s lips quirked up in amusement. “Maybe someday I will.”

Maybe it was the softness in his eyes, or the honest happiness in that not-quite-smirk, but whatever it was made Sakuma say impulsively, “Run away with me.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“When the war’s over, whether Japan wins or…or loses. Say you’ll come away with me somewhere. Promise me.”

Miyoshi didn’t answer one way or another, not verbally anyway, but the pattern changed for a single cycle, and this time Sakuma recognized the character.

He hid his smile in Miyoshi’s belly.

**Now**

“Sakuma-san?”

Sakuma grunted when arms came around his chest and Miyoshi nestled into his back. In reality, it was far too hot for such an embrace, but he wasn’t going to complain.

“My name.”

“What about it?”

“When I write on you, I’m writing my name. Mostly.”

“I think I’d recognize the characters for your—oh.”

“You’ll have to figure out the rest yourself.”

Sakuma tried very hard to keep his voice properly serious when he said, “Then I’ll be sure to study earnestly.”

Sakuma may not have been particularly smart, nor a particularly good spy, but he was just enough of both to understand what it was that Miyoshi was really saying.


End file.
